I'm Yours
by the-blossom-and-the-bee
Summary: Molly invites a lonely Sherlock to spend the evening with her eating takeout and watching television. All fluffy goodness. Takes place sometime after "The Sign of Three." Season 3 spoiler(s). SHERLOLLY.


**A/N: I'm new to Sherlock in both watching and writing. This is my very first Sherlock piece so I would really appreciate reviews on how I did, especially in representing the characters realistically – not exactly one of my strong suits!**

**Also I am neither from the UK nor have I ever been there so I apologize if some of the terminology or phrases are incorrect – let me know if there's anything I should change, it would be much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of it's characters.**

**Thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Sherlock Holmes would never admit to being lonely, but Molly could see it anyways. With John moved in with Mary the consulting detective was the sole occupant of 221B Baker St; and he was lonely. John and Mary Watson did their best to include Sherlock, but after all they were newlyweds. For so long Sherlock had lived on his own, now he was accustomed to having a flatmate, to having consistent people in his life, to having friends. Molly Hooper could see the lonesomeness, the isolation, in his eyes. She couldn't be sure that Sherlock would accept her invitation but it was worth a try.<p>

"Umm, Sherlock?" Molly approached the man seated in front of a microscope.

"Mmm?" He doesn't look away.

"If you're not doing anything tonight," _I know you're not, _"would you want to come over? We could get takeout and watch a little telly if you'd like?"

Sherlock didn't reply immediately. He kept his eyes fixed on the slide beneath the microscope lens.

"I suppose I am available this evening," he spoke slowly.

"Oh. Okay. Good," Dr. Hooper was taken aback by his reply.

"What time shall I arrive?"

"My shift is over at seven and I'll get dinner afterwards, so come to my flat around eight?"

Sherlock nodded slightly.

"Okay," Molly squeaked, backing out of the laboratory.

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><p>It was a quarter to eight when Molly marched up the quiet street with a paper sack filled with containers of food. She shoved her key into the deadbolt on the main door of the building and jogged up the stairs to her 3rd floor flat.<p>

When Molly entered her home she dropped her key ring on the table placed next to the door and flicked the light switch. The overhead light flipped on. Molly screamed. The paper bag crashed to the floor and Molly slumped against her front door.

"What are you doing here?" Molly gasped.

Sherlock uncrossed his long legs and Molly's cat, Toby, leapt from his spot on Sherlock's lap. The man rose from the mustard yellow lounge chair in Molly's living room, "I was bored. Thought I'd come early."

"You, you could've called or," the young woman blinked rapidly, "or at least turned a light on."

Sherlock furrowed his brow at Molly. She didn't reprimand him for breaking into her flat, interesting. Why would she be so nice to him that she wouldn't scold for illegally entering her house? It couldn't be because she had feelings for him, even Molly would ignore sentiment in the face of such an intrusion. It must be something else then. Perhaps she felt guilty about something _no, no, no,_ there was no reason for that. Did she pity him? His mind flashed to earlier that afternoon when Molly had walked up to him in the lab. He saw the look in her eyes: sadness, regret, pity. _Ahh that's it,_ _but why? _She invited him to spend the evening with her so obviously she thought he was lonely. Was this because of John and Mary's wedding? It had to be, why else would she think he was lonely. He had to admit, it was different without John always around. He was bored more often now, especially when he didn't have a case. It was like Molly to be concerned about his solitude.

"Sorry." Sherlock stalked to where Molly stood and picked up the sack containing their dinner. He breathed in the scent of the restaurant food. "Mmm Chinese food from the little place down the street? Ming Dragon is it?"

Molly nodded and followed the man into the tiny kitchen adjacent to the front room.

Sherlock glanced around the room taking in all the details of the kitchen. It was distinctly Molly, he decided. The cabinetry was painted a shade of sunny yellow, open cupboards revealed an eclectic mix of plates – many decorated with a variety of colors and busy patterns. The stove and oven were both well-used – she must cook often – and there was a ceramic cat shaped cookie jar perched atop the counter. He gently set their dinner on the dining table and inspected the contents to ensure that none of the containers had popped open when they had been dropped. He set each of the folded cardboard boxes on the table.

"I got fried rice, lo mein, general tso's chicken, sweet and sour pork, broccoli beef, and spring rolls. I wasn't sure what you like so…" Molly explained sheepishly.

Sherlock glanced down at the much shorted woman and smiled softly at her thoughtfulness, "it all looks delightful, thank you." Molly rewarded him with a sweet grin.

The pair grabbed chopsticks and forks along with the takeout and plopped down on the worn sofa in front of the television. They sat and ate in comfortable silence while Toby once again pushed himself up against Sherlock's leg to cuddle.

"He likes you," Molly commented on her pet, "he hardly likes anyone, including me, at times."

"That's very strange considering not many people enjoy my company."

"Sherlock! That's not true, people like you."

Sherlock faced her with one eyebrow raised, as if questioning her statement.

"Ok well, not everyone has to like you. Nobody needs loads of friends, just a few people who truly care about you. And you've got that."

Sherlock looked away, jaw clenched. Molly could see that he didn't believe her. His eyes were closed in deep thought, obviously churning over what she had just said.

Molly reached forward and grasped the remote and switched on the telly. One of the stations was playing a Doctor Who marathon so Molly turned it on and watched the program while Sherlock sat next to her silently, his unruly curls falling over his face. A few minutes later he selected a box from the coffee table and began finagling noodles into his mouth.

"How was work?" Sherlock asked after they had finished the meal.

"Oh, the same as always. People die, I open them up, we both go home," Molly responded.

Sherlock chuckled at her unruffled response. When he looked at her his smile widened and his eyes danced with humor.

"What is it? Molly asked, embarrassed.

"You have rice in your hair." Molly's cheeks flushed as the man reached forward, gently tugging the food from her hair before pushing the straight, brown locks behind her ear. Sherlock ran his fingers down her long strands, relishing their silkiness.

Molly turned away nervously, but glanced back at Sherlock through her peripheral vision. He had unfolded his lean legs and rested them on the coffee table and his right arm rested on the back of the sofa behind Molly's head.

They spent the rest of the evening watching television programs, both of them subconsciously inching closer to one another, not noticing until their bodies were pressed up against each other. It was late, late enough to make it difficult for Sherlock to get a cab back to Baker Street, but they both knew he should probably leave soon anyways. The strange thing was he really didn't want to leave. He couldn't understand why he wanted to stay, something about sitting here, nearly cuddling Molly, made him feel at home. If he went back home he would have felt…lonely. _I don't understand, _Sherlock thought. But he ignored the sense of loneliness that washed over him. He wrapped his arm around the nearly-asleep Molly and pulled her in close to him. She was soft yet strong, she was comfortable. It felt right to have her tucked under his arm. Sherlock closed his eyes, resting in the moment.

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><p>Molly's eyes fluttered open and flew to the digital clock beside the television. 3 a.m. <em>What am I doing on the sofa? <em>She wondered before realizing that she wasn't alone. She looked up. Moonlight danced off Sherlock's cheekbones and his dark brown curls were mussed. His legs still sat on the table in front of the sofa and his arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. She thought about going to sleep in her bed, but she wasn't willing to give up this situation. Molly smiled to herself before placing her head on Sherlock's chest and putting an arm around his waist, pulling him in to her body. She fell asleep smiling and enjoying the sweet closeness of Sherlock Holmes.

A few hours later Molly awoke again. This time she was lying flat on the sofa, alone. Sunlight streamed through the lacy curtains. Molly noticed the takeout containers from the night before had been cleared from the table and the scent of freshly brewed coffee tickled her nose. The sound of cupboards opening and closing and dished clinking together told her that Sherlock was still in her flat. She heard footsteps moving from the chipped tile in the kitchen to the hardwood flooring of her lounge. Sherlock planted himself on the table in front of Molly and held out a steaming cup of coffee.

"Good morning," he beamed.

"Morning," Molly answered groggily, taking a sip of the burning liquid. She peeked at Sherlock. He had a strange look on his face, as if he were nervous. "Is everything alright?"

Sherlock pursed his lips, "can I ask you a question?" Molly nodded. "are you…my person?"

"Your person? I don't understand," Molly rubbed her eyes.

"You said last night that a person only needs a few people who truly care about them. Are you one of mine? Do you really care about me?"

Molly eyed Sherlock through her long lashes, "Yes, of course I care about you, Sherlock. I'm your person."

He smiled sweetly in response and placed a soft kiss on her temple, "good," Molly grinned at him. Sherlock bent down, his face close to Molly's. Their lips brushed against each other's. Sherlock closed the minute gap between them and captured Molly's soft lips in a gentle kiss. He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to Molly's, "because I'm yours."


End file.
